


(Im)pressure

by Anchan (Anchan_thevolleyballplayer)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternative Universe – College/University, But you probably figured that out already, Dirty Talk, Edging, Explicit Language, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Omorashi, Online Classes, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, excessive talking about peeing, this is not why your students can’t focus but maybe it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchan_thevolleyballplayer/pseuds/Anchan
Summary: Nothing about being closed at home bothers him too much. That is, except online classes. Not because the workload increases tenfold now that they can’t come to the lectures in person; rather, it’s the distractions he need to endure at home that drive him insane.And then he deals with natural forces, and he’s been keeping this one in for long enough to make his head spin.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 1
Kudos: 86





	(Im)pressure

**Author's Note:**

> [*] Their relationship at the beginning of the fic is friends, and there’s no real label at the end so I didn’t know how to tag this but yes eventually boyfriends
> 
> [*] Wow, long time no smut and it actually feels weird to post but enjoy I guess

For the most part, being quarantined isn’t unpleasant.

Sure, he can’t meet his friends and family and he doesn’t want to do groceries more often than necessary – but on the other hand, he doesn’t have to come up with excuses for why he doesn’t want to go out.

And yeah, he misses his morning walks to university but otherwise, nothing about being closed at home bothers him too much.

That is, except online classes. Not because the workload increases tenfold now that they can’t come to the lectures in person; rather, it’s the distractions he needs to endure at home that drive him insane.

His cats, for one, but as long as they stay outside of his bedroom and don’t interfere during classes, he’s good. Plus, they’re quite a pleasant distraction. Having them sitting on his lap while he struggles with assignments and being able to talk to them as the only living creatures in the apartment is the only thing keeping him together.

Then there are also neighbours, but the walls are relatively thick, so it doesn’t bother him often.

And then…

“We apply pressure to see the matter shrink and implode,” sounds from Minho’s headphones and makes him shiver.

 _No_ pressure, thank you very much, he’s already feeling like he might explode. 

And then he deals with _natural forces,_ and he’s been keeping this one in for long enough to make his head spin.

He doubts he’ll remember anything from the class, his main focus being the tiny display clock on his computer, but he doesn’t want to just leave the room and become even more confused with what’s happening when he returns. He can’t miss being assigned homework, either. 

God, he _needs_ to pee.

And that would be okay, probably, he’d held it in for longer on train rides and such.

But it’s also different because he’d be in public, and he wouldn’t stand the humiliation. Now, at home, nothing is holding him composed.

The only thing he can come up with to keep himself busy is thinking about innocent things – like what to get for dinner, focus on the tree outside his window – the lecture half-forgotten already.

It’s barely helping, though. And it brings something a little _different_ into his mind.

It’s always like this, he can’t help it.

Minho swallows back a groan, dragging his hips over the leather surface of his chair. It’s been months since he’d seen anyone, and it usually doesn’t bother him – people are difficult to get along with, and the mornings after successful hook-ups are bitter – but damn, he’s _horny._

At least no one can see him grinding down on his chair, and no one can hear his pathetic whimpers.

“Lee Minho are you present?” he stirs, hastily pushing himself into a straighter position as he reaches for the unmute button to confirm his attendance. “Great, would you present your essay to the class so we could start a discussion?”

“Right, I’ll need a second to open it,” he answers, hoping his voice is steady enough to pass as unaffected and unsuspicious. He spends the second by levelling his breathing instead of looking for the essay that idly waits on the desk in front of him, but no one has to know that.

Half of the class has their cameras turned off just like he does – and on any other occasion he would turn it on, but he isn’t sure if he looks presentable – which makes it seem only about six other people are listening to him. It also means that if he’s going to stumble or give away his pathetic state, only about six people can give him a reaction to feel embarrassed for.

Luckily, nothing happens as he reads the essay. He takes a fair amount of extra time he wouldn’t normally need, but it passes without a comment.

He raises his head once he’s done reading, flashing a glance at everyone present to make sure he hasn’t done anything embarrassing. They all look unphased, and even Jisung who’s been playing with his phone until now has focused on him.

Okay, that makes him slightly flustered, and it has nothing to do with the pressure on his bladder.

He thinks that will be it – he’s proven his participation in the class, maybe he could record the rest on his phone to watch later and deal with the problem slowly growing in his pants _and_ his abdomen.

Maybe that will be the solution, and it’s promising enough to have him reaching for his phone – except he’s greeted by a message notification, rather than the recording app.

And he _shouldn’t_ have clicked on it, definitely shouldn’t have elaborated. School work can wait, distractions from classes can wait, _Han Jisung_ and whatever he wants can wait–

 _‘Hey, Earth to Minho?’_ the message projects into his head in that innocent, hushed voice Jisung uses to catch his attention during classes – at least used to, back when they were sitting a row apart.

 _‘Great essay, that last point really got me thinking,’_ Minho chuckles breathlessly, head snapping towards the screen to make sure he’s muted. _‘Didn’t think I could actually pay attention, but it’s apparently just Mr. Kim’s voice.’_

 _‘Blaming Mr. Kim for that bubble game you’re playing all year?’_ Minho texts back. _‘Education is more important than getting a high score. We all know you can’t reach over 1000 anyway.’_

 _‘Rude, I already reached that twice!!’_ Jisung’s voice echoes in his mind – which is really unfortunate since it goes straight to his abdomen. _‘And don’t play innocent, you think that weak intro didn’t give you away? You’re probably playing with your cats instead of studying rn.’_

Minho’s hips grind down harder, and he has to suppress a whimper. Although he provides distraction from the class, Jisung doesn’t help his situation in the slightest – not when his presence doesn’t feel alien mixed with the pleasure.

 _‘I’m at least trying to focus, unlike someone,’_ he types back hastily, then shuts his phone and drops it towards his thighs. He’s _really_ trying to not lose himself in the moment.

When Jisung replies, it comes as a vibration against Minho’s skin – it’s unexpected but ecstatic, this close to his crotch. Without a further thought, Minho presses the object between his legs. His whole body shakes with each new message, blinding him with sparks of pleasure.

Forcing his hips to calm down and resume slowly grinding back and forth, he finally unlocks his screen to access the streak of messages. If he doesn’t reply, Jisung won’t text back. Why does he want that, again? 

_‘Me too! I listened to your essay!! Isn’t that enough proof?’_ he reads out. _‘If not cats, what is your distraction, then? Beating my bubble high score?’_

 _‘You wish,’_ he adds a smiley face sticking out its tongue. _‘I’d be thousand times better at that game. It requires you to think. Strategy, ever heard of that?’_

 _‘Why am I even talking to you, Linoring is just being rude,’_ he can basically hear the annoyed growl. It does wonders to his clouded mind. The nickname flushes his cheeks red, not excepting to hear it in a situation like this – it doesn’t change that it makes Minho feel gleeful, though.

 _‘Well Han Jisung is just being whiny,’_ he mirrors with fake exasperation. _‘And I’m not telling you to talk to me, you should be listening to Mr. Kim.’_

_‘And you shouldn’t?! This is capitalism!’_

_‘That’s not the word you’re looking for…’_ he actually laughs this time. _‘And I’m trying to focus, but someone’s constantly distracting me with messages. I wonder who.’_

Jisung is ridiculous, and he hates that it’s turning him on. They haven’t seen each other for months, it’s been too long for Minho’s liking, and he misses the absurd confidence Jisung radiates. Misses his presence by his left when they’re walking around the campus. 

_‘Liar, you could have put your phone away already! You want to talk to me as much as I do.’_

Caught red handed, but at least Jisung can’t see his equally crimson face.

At least he doesn’t know about the hand that travels to his tummy, thumb flicking underneath the waistband of his underwear. The string snaps when he stretches it out. _Mhm._

It doesn’t sit right – the voice of his professor transferring through the headphones now only halfway sitting on his head, the buzzing of his brain and the soft creaks of his chair together are a weird combination. But the class is pushed back into his mind and all he feels is pleasure.

But maybe the most off thing about this is Jisung, his messages lighting up Minho’s screen and bringing sparks of excitement towards his lower body.

It’s becoming difficult to raise his phone after each stream of messages comes to an end – as much as he complains about Jisung sending everything in fragments, it lets him lose himself in the sensation. He almost forgets the vibrations have a meaning, other than bringing pleasure.

_‘Did anything happen while I was away? I was thirsty, brought myself water.’_

Minho isn’t any smarter, too lost in his thoughts. Actually, he’s glad he managed to disconnect his attention from the class. He doesn’t want to trigger the last remains of his shame. _‘Why should I tell you?’_ he teases instead.

 _‘Are you regretting you didn’t get anything to drink?’_ of course Jisung chooses to talk about liquids. _‘I have a very tasty glass of lemonade right here with me, too bad we can’t share.’_

 _‘Not a good idea,’_ he whimpers.

If Jisung were anywhere near, he’d already push the glass in front of his face, wiggling the drink before his eyes. Maybe giving him a show of bobbing his throat as he takes a gulp, a streak of liquid streaming down his jaw– Great, now he’s thinking about lewd things.

As long as the thoughts aren’t about liquid streaming down his thighs, it should be fine.

_‘Why? Oh my gosh if you think I blow into the straw that was just to piss off Hyunjin.’_

The hand that isn’t holding his phone drops between his legs, rubbing the strained bulge. His whole body twitches at the contact, hips stuttering off the leather surface.

_‘TMI.’_

_‘Well, what else would you be repulsed by? Don’t tell me you hate lemonade because I would have to judge your poor taste in drinks. You like IA, though, but you’re on thin ice. Should I have gotten an IA to tease you?’_

_‘Jisung, I need to pee.’_

Silence – for a brief moment, he wonders if that was past the line.

 _Too personal? Too much info?_ Jisung would totally whisper-shout the information into his ear if it were the other way around. He’d probably announce it to the whole class as an excuse for not paying attention before making a show of leaving the classroom – unintentionally, he’s just funny when he bumps into things.

Maybe he could bump into Minho, like when they stand in the bus and their crotches press a little too close– no, no, _no_. 

Jisung still doesn’t reply, which makes Minho anxious, until he realises he can hear his voice coming out of the half-discarded headphones – he’s answering the professor. Oh, _the class._

His phone lights up the moment Jisung’s screen pops up the mute icon, and they resume talking as if it were nothing – although with added teasing, now that Jisung knows about his condition.

Which, for some reason, only makes him more aroused. 

‘Hold on a little longer, I’m gonna tell you when it’s safe to leave,’ the next message reads, and Minho keens in approval. He likes the idea of being restrained by Jisung – something about it brings sparks of waves of pleasure through his body. Even it if _wasn’t_ meant that way.

God, maybe it really was (probably wasn’t). It could be, though. Jisung loves teasing him anyway, and they _do_ occasionally graze that territory, although he knows better than to take it seriously.

One of his hands slides under his shirt, grazing his nipples with a featherlight touch. He exhales shakily, vision swimming in front of his eyes. Then he pulls, and his hips jerk upwards.

He’s done this before, many times – the pleasure borders with the distracting tension from being tickled, and clashes with the want to stay collected longer, for a moment too long. He wants to feel himself twitch and writhe as he releases.

Not yet, he’s not that close, but the thought adds an addictive edge to the pleasure.

He thinks about Jisung seeing him this way – pathetically squirming under his own touch, wanting nothing more than to be touched, _challenged._ Would he last even half as long if it were Jisung’s fingers massaging his chest, traveling across his body?

Does Jisung touch his own chest this way when chasing relief, tugging at his buds, and letting out broken sobs? He _did_ mention wanting a nipple piercing once.

How would that feel, a cold metal against his burning skin?

_Thrilling._

A violent shiver runs down his spine, a sign to slow down if he doesn’t want to make a mess in the middle of a class. The only reason he doesn’t choose his option is because the mess has to be cleaned before it becomes unpleasant. Maybe also because he wants to edge himself further, keep enjoying Jisung’s presence longer.

_‘You can load off now’,_ the message reads. ‘ _The class is over.’_

Oh, Minho has barely acknowledged the lack of background noise coming from his headphones but staring at the screen confirms that indeed, the class is over. And so is the tension, and yet he doesn’t find himself rushing to the toilet like he could.

He _could_ pee now, and everything would be right.

But he doesn’t want to, feeling right at the edge of both the good and bad pleasure. Ultimately, he decides that this isn’t the one he wants to deal with first.

So instead, he slumps back into his chair, catching his breath. Both of his hands grip the armrests to prevent himself from touching his oversensitive parts – at least until he calms down enough to heave himself up and go.

It takes a moment to stop his hips from squirming, which he knows is more of grinding anyway, as he subconsciously tries to tease his hole and balls. Okay, it’s one hundred percent conscious but it’s against his own will.

Not that things like that matter when he’s horny.

Maybe he drags it out for longer than necessary, resisting standing up in favour of bouncing his hips up and down impatiently. He knows he could be teasing himself longer, but it’s not a competition – next time, he might reserve a bubble bath evening for this.

He’s just about to stand up when his phone buzzes again. ‘ _So, how’s your bladder now?’_

It goes straight towards his abdomen, both the reminder and the echo of Jisung’s voice. It’s cute, how innocent the questions is, and it’s embarrassing to realise he’s been using Jisung’s kindness to do unholy things to himself, and it will be the first thing on his mind once this is over–

God, he _needs_ to pee.

A release is _all_ he’s asking for, and he’s ready to do just about anything to get it.

Another message pops up: ‘ _Minho?’_

 _‘I didn’t go to the toilet yet,’_ he admits, and he feels stupid – almost sorry for Jisung. After all the younger has done for him, he’s just pathetically waiting here for his boner to disappears.

 _‘Do you have another class? This soon? Should I distract you more?’_ the stream of messages make him chuckle. It also makes it harder to stop himself from grinding down. Maybe he’s not going to the toilet that soon.

_‘Can’t you like… pee into a bottle?’_

What the fuck. He writes exactly that as an answer.

_‘I don’t know okay?? I’m just trying to help, chill. Not a bottle, okay, what about a glass?’_

Before he can think clearly about the idea and realise his mistake, he dials Jisung’s number. The younger picks up after the first ring and beams into the receiver, but Minho is faster.

“Why do you think that would be a better alternative?” he huffs out.

 _“Why are you picking up your phone if you have a class?”_ Jisung counters, and he’s right. Minho just blew a perfectly safe cover that was presented to him.

Who can blame him for doing reckless decision with his bladder begging to release on the spot?

“Okay, I’m not in a class, it literally just ended, and you’ve been there,” he admits but continues sounding offensive, as if that would take Jisung’s attention away from his problem – the problem he doesn’t know about yet, don’t mess up this one too.

 _“What’s keeping you from going to the toilet, then?”_ the younger doesn’t let himself be shaken. _“Are you in a train or something, or outside? I didn’t hear any noise when you were reading your essay before…”_

“No, I’m at home,” he confirms, and he feels quite stupid. He should really just shut the phone off and ignore Jisung until he calms down enough to go to the toilet and not risk any… accidents.

 _“Do you just not want to get up?”_ Jisung asks then, voice laced with laughter. _“I know that feeling man, but listen, you’ve been sitting there for long enough to give yourself cramps.”_

He groans. “I’m going to the toilet then, so thank you for the distraction until now.”

Minho isn’t going anywhere but he might as well let Jisung believe such a white lie. He can’t know about the places Minho touched while talking to him. He’s really holding himself from doing it again.

 _“Wait– I mean, no, yes, go to the toilet,”_ Jisung stammers out. _“Should I stop talking to you then?”_

Obviously, it’s considered weird to be talking to someone while on the toilet. Jisung would probably be more uncomfortable with hearing the sound of urine than Minho being with his presence, though.

“I am going to pee, do you want to hear that?” he asks, exasperated. Honestly, he half-expects Jisung to say yes, and he would be impossibly glad to let him. Wait, that sounded weird.

“Alright, okay, bye then!” Jisung chirps, and the strain in his voice is probably embarrassment.

“Yeah, bye,” he returns. “Thank you for the distraction.”

Minho doesn’t hang up, letting his arm fall to the desk numbly and waiting for the call to end. His legs are shaking, bouncing both impatiently and because it’s borderline arousing. The sound is subtle enough to not be transferred over the phone, but the call must be long since over.

With nothing to distract himself with, Minho finds it challenging not to slide a hand between his legs, massaging the bulge in his pants. It hasn’t gone away yet, which prompts it’s not going anywhere soon unless he actually deals with it.

This isn’t new, not quite. Sometimes, he edges himself when he needs to pee, because the relief that shudders through him feels almost as ecstatic as teasing himself just before he comes. And he does come after, more often than not. Letting himself soften once he’s empty is frustrating, so he might as well get himself all the way.

Usually, though, things happen in the shower. That’s the only other spot spare for his bedroom that doesn’t constantly have three cats peering from every other corner. And, more importantly, the only spot where he can pee himself and it doesn’t feel wrong.

Everyone pees in the shower, right?

Everyone had peed in the shower at least once, as a kid. So what if he does it now?

There’s no one to witness it anyway, and he’s the only person using it.

The pressure on his crotch feels amazing – even more so when he dares to roll his fingers or squeeze himself even tighter.

A quiet moan slips past his lips, and he lifts his hips to thrust up and meet his hand, feeling another wave of pleasure roll down his body. _Fuck._

This isn’t doing it for him, satisfying enough to keep going but not to get him past the edge, in either sense. He needs something more stimulating, unpredictable. _“Hyung?”_

He groans obscenely at the voice of his classmate filling his ears. The hand between his legs adjusts, slipping underneath his shorts and into his underwear, while the other slowly lifts his phone back up. On the screen, the ongoing call keeps counting minutes and it’s been well over ten.

Fuck, Jisung was listening to him. 

“Jisung, are you there?” he asks tentatively, though his body doesn’t wait for the younger to answer.

 _“I’m so sorry, I thought you would hang up– Hyung? Is it okay to ask?”_ he’s stumbling over his words. _“A-are you… you don’t need to go to the toilet, that’s something else. Right?”_ damn, he knows. _“God, I wouldn’t bother you if I knew–”_

All the words go towards his dick instead of into his head, and he barely registers what Jisung is saying because they feel so good. _More,_ give him more of that sound.

He’s resorted to lightly scratching the underside of his cock and it’s making him dizzy.

 _“Do you want me to be the one to hang up?”_ Jisung inquires, visibly confused. Still embarrassed. Who can blame him, though. _“Like, are your hands busy and that’s why you didn’t– yeah they probably are, sorry I’ll just stop talking–”_

“No,” Minho finds himself saying – begging, “don’t stop.”

On the other side of the call, Jisung groans, and for a moment he wonders if that’s a pleased sound.

 _“Okay, I’m not hanging up. Is that good?”_ Minho gasps in answer, and he’s positive Jisung heard him when the younger stutters. _“You’re worked up because I wouldn’t leave you be, right? You couldn’t relieve yourself.”_

“No,” Minho shakes his head again, and it stays that way, lolled to the side. _I wanted to hear you,_ he wants to say but he doesn’t because that’s probably too weird even for this situation.

At this point, he doesn’t feel ashamed when he places the phone down and hastily switches it on speakers so he can use his other hand to spread his thighs. He runs his fingers up and down his inner thigh, feeling himself up with feather-light touch that makes him shiver.

He wishes those were not his hands, because his hands are too predictable. Maybe Jisung’s, those would be excellent. A little too eager, and warmer than Minho’s – not that he knows – and ultimately intoxicating. _Touch me,_ he breathes out.

 _“I can’t, you’re too far away,”_ Jisung answers, and he moans in protest. _“But I can guide you?”_

“Fuck, yes please,” Minho moans again, high-pitched and desperate. His thumb has found its way around his head and is teasing along his slit while his other hand sneaks just below his balls to tease the sensitive skin.

_“Um, do you want me to… should we do this together?”_

Jisung wants to kill him.

It should be embarrassing, how easy he can get a reaction out of Minho, but it also isn’t. It makes Minho’s stomach twist in a good way, knowing the effect. “Sure, whatever you want.”

There’s shuffling on the other side, as if Jisung were moving around, or maybe undoing the covers, or maybe stripping – yeah, that one was _definitely_ a zipper. Fuck.

 _“Okay, I kind of want that,”_ he confesses, hesitant, _“sorry, your sounds… it’s turning me on.”_

Minho’s hand speeds up its movements, beginning to stroke himself, while the other one reaches for the phone again to raise the volume. He wants to hear every subtle sound of Jisung falling apart if that’s what is happening on the other side.

He lacks the visual proof, but the rustling of sheets and pleased hums that transfer through the phone tell him enough. Jisung’s probably doing the latter on purpose, either to tease or because he wants to prove that he’s genuinely affected by Minho. _Shit,_ it’s working a little too well.

_“Did you want this? Did you not tell me you’re touching yourself to keep me around?”_

Minho answers with a broken whimper, hips stuttering off his chair. He tangles his ankles around one leg to keep his balance, regretting not having anything to put underneath himself around. The flat surface will have to be enough to grind on.

_“Were you teasing me about the game to turn me on?”_

“Uh, no,” Minho stutters out a laugh, fully expecting Jisung to start bickering, “you just suck.”

 _“And do you know what else I could be sucking?”_ Jisung answers instead, maintaining a teasing tone, yet with an extra dangerous undertone. Minho wishes he could whisper those words right into his ear, leaning into him while pressing his hands into his belly.

A shiver runs down Minho’s spine at the though. 

_Close,_ he’s so close.

 _“Would you fuck my mouth?”_ Jisung continues, speaking lowly. God, he’s using that hushed tone on purpose. _“So warm and wet, would you paint me with your release?”_

Minho keens, feeling all the pressure from his body dissipate. The warm liquid streaks out of him in comforting waves, and it only mildly phases him when it starts sticking to his fingers. He doesn’t still his movements, gasping with each stroke.

_“Did you just come?”_

“No,” he shudders, gripping his thigh while he picks up the pace of his strokes. The glide makes it easier to go faster, and it makes space for coming in Minho’s head.

One need off his task list, may come the real relief soon.

_“Huh? But I heard it flow out–”_

Not without Jisung’s words, he worries. Or maybe it _would_ have worked out without him, but he doesn’t want to. Not when Jisung makes him feel so dizzyingly good.

“I’m not done yet, please keep talking to me,” he pleads, voice completely out from under his control. It’s raspy and breaks in the middle, but Jisung gets the message.

 _“O-okay,”_ he whimpers through the phone, and the rustling noises become louder.

Minho hooks his legs around the armrests, spreading them out as far as his pants allow him. His neglected cock is finally getting some friction now, and Minho has to bite back a moan at how overwhelming it feels. It shouldn’t take too long to get himself past the real edge.

The pleasure is blinding – it’s so easy to get lost in.

And yet, Minho finds himself addicted to Jisung’s voice just as much. The puffed out breaths and whines barely transfer through the line, hard to catch but absolutely worth the extra effort. He can’t stop thinking about Jisung treating himself in a similar fashion, probably spread out on the mattress.

Pretty, _so pretty._

Jisung moans loudly, rustling as if he were squirming around, and Minho’s head spins when he hears a broken whisper of his own name. The way it comes out of Jisung’s mouth, soft and pleading, helps him reach the clouds. 

Finally, he feels the force of his orgasm hit, knocking any other thoughts except for Jisung’s voice out of his head as he feels himself letting go. It shudders through him harder than what he’s used to, and he regards that to Jisung being an unexpected addition.

This release feels different from the first one. It brings relief but also content, knowing he’s done for the night. Jisung follows right after, and Minho drinks up all the pretty sounds that escape his mouth and transfer through the call.

He wishes he could be there with Jisung, to hear them loud and clear. To feel Jisung’s body instead of the leather of his chair, to replace his hands with Jisung’s and to fall apart under his gaze. He’s been doing that for the most part of the class, although Jisung wasn’t aware of it – now he wants to experience it for real. If Jisung lets him, that is.

It takes Jisung longer to recollect himself, despite Minho being the edged one. Minho almost worries if he’s having second thoughts now that he’s sobering up, but he must have had a sober mind before he let himself get dragged into Minho’s business.

 _“Fuck, would it be wrong if I said I just got off to your moans?”_ he stumbles out breathlessly. _“Because I think I did, God, I think I have a voice kink or something that was hot.”_

Minho chuckles, exhausted. “Well, that sounds like a good discovery?”

 _“Yeah, it is,”_ he confirms with a chuckle of his own. _“If you don’t mind, that is. It’s… your voice I get off to, for now.”_

No, he doesn’t mind. “I’m pretty sure I’m not better.”

 _“Ah, right,”_ Jisung’s laugh sounds through the receiver. It’s calming. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion setting in. _“In that case, I guess I could trade the bubble record for this.”_

“That sounds like we’re skipping another class soon,” Minho pretends to sound concerned, but it doesn’t transfer well through the phone – not even when he’s poised, much less breathless and fucked out. “You better ask for notes beforehand.”

 _“Mhm, either philosophy or my lunch break, I don’t mind skipping either._ ”

Minho’s heart skips a beat. “Lunch break?”

 _“Yeah, well, maybe I need a distraction from the noisy music in the cafeteria,”_ Jisung reasons. It’s done with an extra dramatic lilt to his voice that makes Minho want to roll his eyes. It _always_ does that to him, but now it also makes him want to reach out and pull him close. 

“Maybe you need a better excuse to get laid.”

 _“I don’t know about you, but I think it’s working anyway?”_ the laugh that transfers through the receiver is challenging. _“As if you were better, Mr. I need to pee in the middle of class.”_

Minho sighs, shaking his head weakly. There’s no reason to hide it, especially when it seems Jisung may be soon involved with him again – he’s too tired to bicker until the topic is forgotten. “I was saying the truth.”

 _“What– no, we’ve been over this, you blew your cover,”_ the younger insists, but his voice is getting distant to Minho’s ears. _“Ahh, don’t be embarrassed hyung!”_

A yawn escapes his mouth, and that’s when Minho decides it’s enough for today.

This is something to be discussed later, then.

Or eventually, Jisung will figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos & Comments are appreciated~


End file.
